


beware the frozen heart

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whispers come at night.Mama and Papa say it’s just her imagination, that there’s nothing to be afraid of.  They tuck her into bed, and Papa lights a candle.  “To capture the nightmares,” he says, then drops a kiss to her forehead.  “And to scare away the monsters.”  --AU in which Anna is turned to ice as a child, and her memory haunts Elsa.--</p>
            </blockquote>





	beware the frozen heart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a horrifying remix of "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" on Tumblr by NipahDUBS.
> 
> Blame Christine. This is all her fault.

_**beware the frozen heart** _

 

The whispers come at night.

 

Mama and Papa say it’s just her imagination, that there’s nothing to be afraid of. They tuck her into bed, and Papa lights a candle. “To capture the nightmares,” he says, then drops a kiss to her forehead. “And to scare away the monsters.”

 

But the monster still comes, knocking on her door - once, twice, and then in a light rhythm that sends a shiver down Elsa’s spine.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock knock._

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?_ ”

 

Elsa dives under the covers, peeks out from beneath the blanket and feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The cold creeps in, like ice in her veins, then scatters from her, a frozen mist claiming all in its path. Her breath comes out in a puff of fog; the candle snuffs out.

 

“ _Elsa?_ ” the monster says. “ _Please, I know you’re in there. Come on, let’s go and play._ ”

 

.

 

“She’s traumatized,” says the court physician, a round man with even rounder eyes. “What she did to her sister--”

 

“Sister?” Elsa frowns, slipping from her hiding spot. She wrings her hands, tugging at her gloves. “I have a sister?”

 

Papa gasps and Mama chokes as if she’s about to cry.

 

“No, Elsa,” says Papa, though he gives the physician a stern look. “He was just mistaken.”

 

.

 

The monster comes again that night.

 

It isn’t afraid of the candle.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock knock._

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

Elsa takes one deep breath of icy air and then another. “H-hello?”

 

“ _Elsa!”_

 

“Do I know you?”

 

“ _I’ve missed you, Elsa.”_

 

Elsa swallows hard, feels the familiar chill seep from her veins and into the air around her, extinguishing the candle. “Who -- who are you?”

 

“ _You really don’t remember me, do you?”_

 

“Am I supposed to?”

 

“ _We used to be best buddies,”_ the monster replies in a sing-song tone. _“And now we’re not. I wish you would tell me whyyyy.”_

 

Elsa watches the frost make its way across the room, crawling beneath the rug and up the door. “Please,” she whispers. “Please just tell me.”

 

“ _I’m your sister,”_ says the monster. _“Anna.”_

 

.

 

“That’s a lovely doll,” says Gerda, nodding to the orange-haired ragdoll in Elsa’s lap. She pours the tea. “What have you decided to name her?”

 

“Anna,” Elsa says, taking extra care to be heard.

 

Mama gasps, and Gerda stumbles, spilling tea all over the table. “Oh dearie me! I’ll clean this right up.”

 

.

 

Anna might not be a monster.

 

After all, she only wants to play.

 

“I don’t have a sister,” says Elsa one night.

 

“ _Of course you do, silly!”_

 

“Then why does no-one remember you?”

 

“ _Oh, they all remember. It’s you who can’t remember me.”_

 

Elsa frowns. “Why not?”

 

Anna is quiet.

 

“Why?” Elsa raises her voice. “Why can’t I remember you?”

 

“ _... do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

.

 

“She keeps talking about ‘the monster’. This can’t be healthy.”

 

“It’s just a phase.”

 

“Something’s wrong. She’s remembering.”

 

“But the trolls said--”

 

“She named her doll ‘Anna’! That’s not a coincidence!”

 

Papa sighs. “We could send her away. There are -- specialists.”

 

Elsa swallows hard, clutching her doll to her chest and leaning her back against her parents’ door. They don’t believe in the monster - in _Anna_. They don’t believe her, and they’d send her away.

 

She throws the doll, watching it slide down the hall.

 

.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock knock._

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

The candle flickers on her nightstand, struggling for life as the temperature drops; as ice begins to reign.

 

“Go away,” she whispers. “Please, just go away.”

 

“ _It doesn’t have to be a snowman!”_

 

“Go away, Anna!” she yells, then gasps as sharp spears of snow and frost shoot from the floor, their icy points creeping toward the door.

 

“ _... okay, bye …”_

 

.

 

“You haven’t asked your father to light the candle for you in over a week,” Mama comments one afternoon over tea. “Are the nightmares finally gone?”

 

Elsa considers correcting her, telling her that they aren’t _nightmares_ but a monster - and maybe not even a monster at all - but decides it best just to nod.

 

Mother doesn’t mention the dark circles under her eyes, or how her hand trembles as she reaches for a scone.

 

.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock knock._

 

“You’re not real!” Elsa calls out, not even giving Anna a chance to speak.

 

She sounds hurt. _“I’m very real.”_

 

“Then prove it,” Elsa replies petulantly, her little fingers grasping into fists around the sheet. “I need proof.”

 

“ _Then come out the door. Let’s play.”_

 

Now or never. Elsa slips from bed, ice forming under her bare feet as they press into the carpet. She remembers what Papa had said about the ‘nightmares’ - _don’t let them know you’re afraid; conceal it, don’t feel it; don’t let it show._ She swallows hard, musters her courage and takes one purposeful step and then another toward the door.

 

The doorknob freezes in her palm, shards of crystalline ice forming against her skin as she pushes the door open.

 

Nothing.

 

“W-where are you?” she says, trying her hardest not to sound afraid.

 

“ _I’m right here,”_ Anna’s voice echoes down the hall.

 

“No, you’re not.” Elsa’s heart pounds in her ears, and she squeaks, “Who are you? _What_ are you?”

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

Elsa races back to bed, diving head-first beneath the covers.

 

.

 

“Elsa, dear, you look a fright! Did you sleep all right?”

 

Gerda clucks over her like a mother hen. She doesn’t have any children of her own, so perhaps she makes up for it by doting over any child that crosses her path.

 

“I’m fine,” Elsa lies, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I just heard an awful racket in the hall last night. Maybe it was the -- kitchen boy?”

 

“Oh dearie me, no,” Gerda chuckles. “I should hope not. Fredrik left us nearly a month ago. Always stealing sweets when no-one was looking.”

 

Elsa blinks. “Oh.”

 

.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock knock._

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

“No,” Elsa mutters. “It isn’t real.”

 

“ _Or ride our bike around the halls?”_

 

“Conceal it,” she whispers, hands trembling as she reaches out to light her candle. “Don’t feel it.”

 

“ _I think some company is overdue,”_ Anna sings, louder and louder until her voice is pounding within Elsa’s head. As Elsa has aged, so has Anna’s voice - now wrought with the crackly squeak of prepubescence. _“I’ve started talking to the pictures on the walls.”_

 

A wisp of ice and snow engulfs the flame as soon as it ignites, again and again and again until Elsa gives up, sinking into her mattress and pulling a pillow over her head. “Don’t let it show.”

 

“ _It gets a little lonely - all these empty rooms - just watching the hours tick byyy.”_

 

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

 

.

 

Elsa glances up, mid-curtsy; a perfect princess like always. “Do you have to go?”

 

Father offers her a half-smile, and Mother nods encouragingly. “You’ll be fine, Elsa.”

 

It’s only two weeks, she reminds herself.

 

She’s eighteen years old, almost old enough to take the crown herself.

 

She’ll be fine for two weeks.

 

.

 

_Knock knock knock._

 

“ _Elsa?”_

 

No no no.

 

“ _Please, I know you’re in there.”_

 

No no no. Stay away. Stay away. Not now.

 

“ _People are asking where you’ve been.”_

 

Elsa leans her back against the door, sinks to the ground in the icy fog. This is her space - her kingdom, her rules - and no-one can take it from her. No-one can come in, not unless she lets them. Even the voices in her head are powerless here; she’s safe.

 

She’s safe.

 

“ _They say have courage, and I’m trying to.”_

 

It isn’t real, she tells herself. Conceal it; don’t feel it. Don’t let it show.

 

“ _I’m right out here for you; just let me iiiinnn.”_

 

She only has to make it through tonight. Just one more night. And then--

 

And then she isn’t sure.

 

“ _We only have each other. It’s just you and me. What are we gonna dooooo?”_

 

The loneliness weighs on her; the hopelessness. She reaches one trembling hand toward the doorknob and pushes the door open.

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

 

.

 

Her magic fills the castle with flurries of soft, wet snow.

 

The freedom fills her with joy. Though her parents’ death weighs heavily on her heart, there’s a sense of relief in blanketing the ballroom in winter’s magic. It’s almost as if she’s coming home to an old friend - but she can’t remember having ever done this before. No, just a soft tug of familiarity in her heart.

 

She builds the figure by hand, laughing as she piles armfuls of snow onto a mound as tall as she is, patting it and pushing at it until it’s firm. “Is that big enough?”

 

For once, Anna does not reply.

 

She carves a girl from the snow-mound - her hands planted on her hips, two long braids falling over her shoulders. She thinks they’d be orange in color, just like her favorite doll from when she was a child. She’s beautiful, Elsa thinks, like one of the paintings in the gallery. But not quite finished.

 

She uses her thumb to carve two eyes - round and bright - and a mouth set with determination.

 

“And last but not least-” she murmurs, smoothing her fingers in the snow. “A nose.”

 

The snowgirl smiles.

 

“ _Elsa.”_

 

Elsa’s blood runs cold as she watches the girl come to life, those hands once planted sassily on her hips now pushing at the snow on the ground, pushing it up, up, up around Elsa; trapping her.

 

“Wha-what are you doing?” she gasps, blindly throwing out streams of frost and ice. But no - ice cannot harm a girl made of snow. The icy shawl envelops her, winding round her limbs and sinking into her clothing, her skin; cold and stiff and no -- she can’t move.

 

The girl smiles again, hands planted on her hips.

 

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_


End file.
